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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25370839">Pacify Interlude: No Time To Need</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickenpets/pseuds/Chickenpets'>Chickenpets</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pacify Interludes and AUs [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Art, Confusion, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Pacifyverse, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Trauma, Unrequited Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter - Freeform, Unrequited Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Unrequited Draco Malfoy/Severus Snape, Wartime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 08:01:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25370839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickenpets/pseuds/Chickenpets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during Pacify Part 4, Chapter 7: A Mad Plan </p><p>Left on Severus' sofa after a harrowing near-death experience with the Dark Lord, Draco struggles to deal with his feelings.</p><p>***</p><p>Draco had no idea how they were together, but he did know that Harry Potter was reckless and insane, and Severus Snape was brutal and relentless, and they were definitely fucking, and that was a recipe for madness. So, he pressed down into his hand and imagined.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Harry Potter/Severus Snape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pacify Interludes and AUs [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>169</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pacify Interlude: No Time To Need</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/danpuff/gifts">danpuff</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyandreams/gifts">cyandreams</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Alternate Title: Draco's Confusing Wank</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Draco did not tell Snape that he got sick in his bathroom when he’d gone to take a shower. He didn’t say much at all to the man, really, once he’d come out. He just presented himself alive and un-mutilated, and took the nightclothes from his hands, and looked at the floor and told him that he was pretty sure that Crabbe had triggered the nightmare they’d just been through. That Crabbe must have been the one who had gone to the Dark Lord with the indispensable information that Draco was not, in fact, being brutally beaten into submission by his own Headmaster - his owner, Severus Snape, the undisputed lieutenant of the Dark Lord and most savage sadist ever to walk the earth. </p><p>He did not tell Snape how very disappointed he’d been when Snape declined to kill him, or when he took away the glass that Draco had been hoping to use to slit his wrists, and he did not tell Snape how desperately he wanted all of this to end. He did not express to his one great protector how guilty he felt for tearing him away from the only person he seemed to love, or how worried he was that Harry Potter would cast him into hell for putting Severus Snape into a position where his only options were certain death or kissing Draco Malfoy on the mouth. And certainly he didn’t express to his <em> master </em> how incredibly confusing this all was, or how desperately he wanted to be looked upon for even a single moment the way Snape had looked at Harry when he’d appeared beside him in the seventh floor corridor, and seen him splattered with Draco’s blood, and said - <em> Harry - are you alright? </em></p><p>No, certainly not. It was not the sort of thing to say, really. Not the sort of line to cross, particularly when Draco himself had no idea what he even wanted. Was it Harry? His bright, wide green eyes, looking at Severus Snape at the front of Defence class like he’d seen the face of God? Or was it Snape? Snape’s fierce regard, intense and burning, his unfettered defense, his brutal violence, the absolute devotion of a man so incredibly unconnected to normal society that he might actually actually<em> fall in love </em> with a <em> teenage boy </em>and march straight into hell to defend him? </p><p>Did he want all of that? None of it? Did he want the liquid softness of Harry’s gaze - his visible adoration - or did he want the flinty, unforgiving, terrifying intensity of Snape prodding him in the chest with one finger, hitting him right where it might hurt the worst, saying - <em> don’t you know how dispensable you are? </em></p><p>Merlin, what it might mean to be <em> indispensable </em>to a man like that? What it might feel like to be loved by a boy like Harry, instead of languishing on a sofa, nauseated and alone, with no parent to care for him, and no man to shelter him. Just his own self, torn open and vulnerable, under the unforgiving glare of his mistakes, begging for forgiveness for driving a wedge between that boy and that man. For needing so very much. For being so deeply incompetent, and so incredibly mistaken. For being so abjectly unable to shield himself from harm, and so very desperate for sanctuary.</p><p>Anyway, the point was that Snape had given him a pillow off of his own bed, and it smelled good, and this was not at all the sort of time to be burying his face into the scent of a body he would never ever lay beside, and no time to be wishing to be another boy entirely, or to have that boy, or whatever the fuck was wrong with his brain to be laying on Snape’s sofa, in his rooms, at two in the morning, terrified and wanting and exhausted and unable to sleep.</p><p>And it was no time to be hard, and no time to be thinking of how it felt to be kneeling between Snape’s legs and looking up at him with absolutely nothing in his mind but the word <em> please </em>repeated over and over. </p><p>And it was no time to be remembering Harry Potter in the Manor basement, laying hands on his head and putting him to sleep. And no time for thinking of the way he’d said, <em> ‘did Severus give that to you?’ </em> like the man he was fucking was the sort of man to give black eyes. Even if he was. Even if he was the sort of man to say, <em> ‘deep breath, Draco,’ </em> before hurting him, and, <em> ‘one more, deep breath,’ </em> but also <em> ‘he told me to make you stay,’ </em> and, <em> ‘that was right. You did it right.’ </em></p><p>It was no time to need, and it was no time to wonder with vivid intensity whether or not Harry Potter had gotten fucked on this sofa, or on this floor, or whether or not the day Draco had been summarily disarmed by Harry in the dungeons had been the first day Harry had spread his legs for a truly depraved professor - the type of man that would know just how to make a mark, just how to project ownership into the world - the type of man that would take a glass away from a teenage boy because glass was just the sort of thing a teenage boy might try to kill himself with after being forced onto his knees.</p><p>And Jesus Christ Lord in heaven Salazar Slytherin and the ghost of the original Malfoy, this was no time to be hard. What was he even hard for? Harry? Snape? Merlin, for safety? </p><p>Survival?</p><p>For the way Snape had pinned him to the wall that first night and said, <em> ‘shall I claim you, then?’ </em> Or the way Draco’s brain had very helpfully supplied the response, <em> ‘I’m already yours - I was yours the moment you took me with you,’ </em>which his mouth had not dared to form?</p><p>Or was it for Harry Potter, windswept and flushed, snatching the snitch from his very grasp? That childhood crush, colored and animated with animosity, dragged out into the light by the very fact that when Harry had been at his mercy - trapped and wandless - that Harry had given him a sliver of trust?</p><p>And then Draco had been tortured for it, and had crawled back to Severus Snape’s knee, begging for protection. Begging for even a tiny splinter of the love and affection that might lead someone like Snape into the maw of standing between Draco Malfoy and his certain destruction. That might lead Severus Snape to say the words, <em> ‘It’s alright. You did just fine,’ </em>after pinning him to the ground with his boot.</p><p> </p><p>He let out a whimper and then turned his face further into the pillow, simultaneously inhaling the scent of his Headmaster’s skin and huffing it right back out of his nose. Simultaneously pressing his hips into the sofa cushions and jerking them back, and simultaneously considering creeping into Snape’s bedroom and creeping into Snape’s liquor cabinet to break a new glass and slit his arms open to the elbow and bleed out on the persian rug that Harry Potter had definitely - <em> definitely - </em>been fucked on. </p><p>And what in Merlin’s name was he supposed to do? He was so tired but there was no way he was going to sleep. Not when he was so <em> hard. </em>He just had to take care of that first, that was all. Just take care of that, and he’d be able to sleep. Surely he would. Surely. And then tomorrow he could try to get it together. That was the only thing to do, really. Just get off, and sleep, and try to make it through the next day, and the next, and the next, until it was over. Whenever that was. </p><p>He snaked one hand underneath his body, and under the waistband of his shorts, and closed his fingers around himself. And then he froze and squeezed his eyes shut harder, crushing his face into the pillow. Because he knew - he <em> knew - </em> that if he did this, Snape would know. Of course he would. He saw absolutely everything in Draco’s brain during his Occlumency training, and <em> especially </em> anything that he wanted to hide. That was the point. So what could he think about? Would it be worse to have Snape see him wanking off to Harry, or to Snape himself? Would he kick Draco right back to the wolves if he knew how incredibly badly Draco wanted whatever the fuck he even <em> did </em>want? </p><p>He tightened his fingers once and then released them, his mind racing. He’d just have to think about the two of them together, that was all. That wouldn’t make Snape jealous, anyway, or make him fear that Draco might try to creep into his bed - which he was absolutely not going to do. He’d just think about Snape and his illicit, teenage lover. About Harry's face being held to the very pillow Draco was holding, maybe. For Draco had no idea how they were together, but he did know that Harry Potter was reckless and insane, and Severus Snape was brutal and relentless, and they were definitely fucking, and that was a recipe for madness. So, he pressed down into his hand and imagined. </p><p>He imagined Harry on his knees the way Draco had been, but not in front of the Dark Lord. He imagined Snape’s hand in Harry’s hair the way it had been in Draco’s hair, tugging his head back and bearing his throat. He imagined Harry getting manhandled up against the wall, the way Snape had manhandled Draco up against the wall, and he imagined Harry’s eyes widening in excitement and fear. And then he imagined how the muscles of Snape’s legs might look while he was sticking his cock inside Harry’s body. The muscle and sinew he’d felt corded in tension under his hands only hours before, and in feeling that coiled fury had known that Severus Snape wanted to kill the Dark Lord right then. Just - fucking - <em> disembowel him </em>for putting Draco on his knees that way. Or, at least, that was how it had seemed to him. But he hadn’t allowed that thought to coalesce at the time. Instead, he’d filled his brain with a froth of terror and false memories of being held down, and had looked into the Dark Lord's eyes with VICTIM stamped into his barriers, and hoped that Snape’s strength was formidable enough for the both of them. </p><p>And it had been. It had been more than enough, and they’d apparated back to the castle together, and Snape had <em> held him, </em> and sent him into the shower, and told him that he couldn’t kill himself because he needed to fight. He needed to fight for Harry. For Harry Potter, who had absolutely had Snape’s cock down his throat. Maybe even in their DADA <em> classroom. </em> And <em> fuck. </em></p><p> </p><p>A shallow moan escaped him and he froze in terror, his eyes snapping open. How loud had that been? Loud enough to penetrate Snape’s bedroom door? Was it even <em>closed? </em>He sayed still, listening hard, waiting to see if he’d been discovered. But there was no stirring in Snape’s bedroom in answer to his transgression, and his prick was leaking in his hand, so he turned onto his side facing the sofa back and clutched Snape’s pillow to his face and kept going. </p><p>What sort of noises did Harry make, he wondered? And did Snape let him make noises? Snape didn’t like it when Draco made noises, he knew that - and tried hard to withhold them - but was that just because it was <em> him, </em> and not Harry?</p><p><em> 'You must think that if I had Potter, I was gentle,’ </em> Snape had hissed at him, up against the wall. <em> ‘But I wasn’t. I made him scream.’ </em></p><p>He moved his hand faster, chasing that thought.</p><p>Harry, screaming. Draco had heard Harry’s scream. He’d heard it a few times, in fact. Did it sound different when it was Snape making him do it? Did he scream into the pillows while Snape fucked him? Or did Snape really hit him the way the Deatheaters said? How rough was it, exactly, when they were together? </p><p>Probably… pretty rough.</p><p>A sickening tidal wave of heat rolled through him, and he pictured Harry being tossed bodily onto a bed and held down. He pictured Snape’s refined hands around Harry’s neck, and around his cock, and around his wrists, and choked back a moan, wondering if he could ask Harry what it felt like to bend over for a man like Severus Snape, some day. If he lived, maybe he could ask. Maybe he could ask if Harry sucked on his fingers, and on his cock, and if Snape really liked to bite and scratch, and if Harry’d had a hard time hiding his bruises. Because he’d had bruises, surely. Not all of it could be a lie. Not all of it. A man like Severus Snape could never be satisfied with leisurely, tender lovemaking in front of the fire. And a boy like Harry Potter wouldn’t either, probably. He was too wild. No instinct for self preservation, no family, nothing to lose. And that was a thought, wasn’t it?</p><p>Did Harry call him sir, he wondered? His cast-iron lover, the age of his father. Or did Harry call him <em>‘Professor?’ </em>Did Harry whimper,<em>’</em> <em>please professor please?’  </em>Or was it ‘<em>Severus’ </em>he cried out in the darkness? Maybe he’d said that right into these fucking sofa cushions. All of that. Just <em>pinned face-first into the sofa cushions </em>by the most dangerous man Draco had ever seen.</p><p>Just, <em> ‘please, Professor, please - please, sir, harder, harder - Severus - fuck me -’ </em> Right into the sofa cushions. Into his pillows. Into the rug, and into his desk, and into Snape’s shoulder, and <em> Merlin, </em>Draco was close. He was so close, and he just had to finish, and then he could sleep, and bury these thoughts, and never think them again. That was all. He just had to finish, and sleep, and try again tomorrow.</p><p>Inhaling the smell lingering in his pillow, he desperately imagined being between them. Not the way he was now, a fucking <em> wall </em> between Snape and his lover, but between their bodies. Imagining Harry’s hands on his head, and Snape’s fingers digging into his hips - imagining how it might feel to have a cock in his mouth for real - imagining Harry’s voice, soft insead of angry, saying his name, praising him - and Snape, too, buried inside him and saying <em> very good, Draco. That’s just right. </em> Imagining looking up at Harry’s face, and seeing his eyes locked on Snape. Imagining swallowing Harry’s come, and taking Snape’s cock up his arse, and <em> fuck - </em> hearing them <em> kissing over him </em> while they <em> used him - </em></p><p>He tipped over, just like that. With that image seared into his brain. A black-haired boy and a black-haired man <em>using him. </em>Maybe even forgetting he was there while they took their pleasure, rough and careless, and so fucking in love that it didn’t even matter that Draco was there. He was no threat, no competition - and as he shook and panted and flushed with shame, he knew without a doubt that he would never lay a single finger on either of them.</p><p>Not ever.</p><p>And thank God for that, really. </p><p>He probably wouldn’t even survive it.</p><p> </p><p>
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